


Lost

by hannahbanana0521



Series: the Lams Angst Era [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Revolution, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Era, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahbanana0521/pseuds/hannahbanana0521
Summary: Alexander Hamilton never thought that he would fer death. That is, until he had something to live for.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: the Lams Angst Era [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878694
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this fic at the behest of my partner in May of 2019. I've chosen not to change, edit, or enhance any of what I've written here for the sake of preserving my old writing style. Enjoy!

“John. John!” 

In the midst of his mild panic, he saw the flash of curly brown hair shoot towards him, pressing his back to Alex’s and letting out a breathy laugh. “Sorry,” he gasped, another well-aimed shot sending a redcoat to the ground. “I got held up. It’s a bit hard to cross a field with a bunch of british gits shooting at you.”

Alex breathed a sigh of relief and admitted, “I thought you’d gone down there for a second.” In the midst of all the action, he had lost sight of his lover as he raced across the field, vision obscured by the haze of gun and cannon smoke. With men falling all around them, red and blue alike, he’d feared that his beloved John had met the same fate. 

“Me?” John asked in mock teasing. “I wouldn’t dare leave you, especially not at the hands of one of King George’s little minions. That’s just about the worst way I could go.” A scream to the left drew their attention as they watched another of their men go down. With anger flooding his chest a furious scream rose from Alex as he searched for the man who’d fired the killing shot and sent him to the ground as well. 

John watched with a sort of righteous pride as the bullet hit its home. That was one of the things he loved about Alex. His fierce devotion to their cause, his skill in combat, that brilliant mind of his; they were all qualities which had drawn him to the Carribean native and caused him to fall in love. Part of the reason he was fighting was for Alex anyways, not just to keep him safe but to be with him always.

Turning, the fire in Alex’s eyes died to a small flame, flickering with love as they met John’s gaze. They didn’t need words to communicate the feeling anymore; it was instinctive, primal. Like they had been born with it, and would die with it too. They clasped arms like the knights of old, each man’s right hand clenched tightly around the other’s forearm. Smiles followed by giddy laughs left their mouths, the adrenaline making them nearly delirious, especially for each other. In that moment, Alex was the only thing John could see.

He did not see the gun pointing straight toward him.

He did see the shock in his partner’s eyes, and see the smile fall from his mouth. 

Like that, the spell was broken. It was then that he noticed the redcoat and, with trembling hands, fumbled with his gun before sending one, two, three shots into the body, watching it fall as Alex’s had. He screamed for a medic.

Glancing around, he made sure the area was cleared, at least for the most part. He watched blue-clad men rush past him toward the enemy. They had all loved Alexander, and every man who served under the major general was outraged at his fall. The scene brought tears to his eyes, but not so much as the scene that met him once he finally crouched down. 

The bullet must have torn straight through his body. The blue coat turned purple as blood seeped into it, soaking the ground beneath him and John’s hands as he tried desperately to stop the bleeding, to save him at whatever the cost. “Alex,” he whispered, one hand pulling away to caress his face and turn it towards John. His breathing came fast and shallow, and his eyes darted around wildly until they rested on John’s face. There were tears in them. He called out once more for a medic.

“Alex, hey,” he cooed softly, pulling him into his arms. The motion caused the wounded man to cry out, although he was grateful to be held like this, to have someone try to comfort him. But he already knew what was coming. Nothing John said or did could change that. 

His mouth moved as though he were trying to speak until he finally managed to croak out, “John, I...I’m  _ scared _ .”

It was ironic, truly. He had always known he would die someday. He hadn’t been afraid of it when he was sick with his mother, or when the hurricane had hit. He had told Washington time and time again that he was not afraid, that he was glad to give his life for this cause; for this country, for his men, for their right to be free. But now...dear God, he wondered what he’d been thinking. 

John was just as surprised. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Alex cry. He couldn’t believe he’d let this happen. He couldn’t believe that such a great man who had so much more to do with his life could just...die. It just wasn’t possible. He didn’t know what to do or say, so all he did was shush him softly, brushing his sweat and grime drenched hair from his forehead. 

“It’s okay,” he choked out, rubbing a thumb across Alex’s cheek and wondering where in hell the medics were. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” But the fear filled eyes and the shaking head of his lover refused to accept the comforting words. 

“No, no please,” Alex begged, clutching onto John’s arm with a vice-like grip. “I don’t want to die, John,  _ please _ .” He was desperate. He couldn’t accept this, not yet. His voice cracked with broken sobs and John...he was at even more of a loss than before. He called once more, as loudly and with as much conviction as he could muster, for a medic. Nothing. 

Glancing back down at the dying man in his arms, tears fell onto the dirt-stained face and he rested his forehead against his beloved’s. “I’m so sorry, Alex.” 

The last flickering flame of hope went out in his eyes, and he buried his face in John’s chest. “Don’t leave me, please,” he begged, “don’t let me die here alone, I’m so scared. I don’t want to be alone, John,  _ please. _ ” John nodded through his tears muttering ‘I promise’s and ‘I’m so sorry’s between sobs. He listened as Alex’s words grew weaker and wear, watched his mouth slow and his eyes dim, until finally, there was silence. His hand fell limp from it’s hold on John’s arm. He was gone. 

Chest heaving, John let out a strangled cry as he doubled over across Alexander’s body, clutching tightly at his clothes. He had failed him. Alex didn’t ask for much and, in his dying moments, he was helpless. And he had been so  _ scared _ . Why hadn’t John done anything? Why didn’t he make him feel better? Why had he merely sat and listened to his pleading till it died with him? This was his fault. The body in his arms was his fault, the death of the major general was his fault, the death of his  _ lover... _ was his fault. 

So he bore the body caused by his mistake back to the camp. The battle was won, but Alexander Hamilton...he was lost.


End file.
